


Between a Wood and a Hard Place

by iseoks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Drabble, Exhibitionism, Hogwarts Third Year, Implied Sexual Content, Lust, M/M, Oneshot, Pining, Rough Kissing, Undressing, not smut but almost there lol, snogging if you will, well it's their seventh year but this takes place during poa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iseoks/pseuds/iseoks
Summary: Professor McGonagall had warned Percy that a certain Ministry official would be turning up at the school for a visit, and that the Head Boy should be expecting to meet with him in his quarters at some point during the day. As it turns out, "some point" isn't specific enough for Oliver, who wants to have a bit of fun in the meantime.





	Between a Wood and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a dream about these two, and originally uploaded to [Tumblr](http://malfoid.tumblr.com/post/168892829465/a-little-perciver-drabble-i-wrote-based-on-a-dream). Liable for a sequel!

She told him to be ready.

He takes her words, down to the last syllable, very seriously. She’s his head of House, a woman he trusts with his life - a woman to whom he has a faithful devotion and  _for_  whom, a fierce trust. Needless to say, this is uncharacteristic of him.

Not the way he’s wrapped up in a very familiar embrace. No, that’s come to be completely normal over the last few months; to his relief, after years (which felt closer to an eternity, from his perspective) of pining after a certain captain native to the Scottish Isles. Perhaps giddiness is to blame. Surely they should be past this stage, by now. It’s been almost four months, and yet, he can’t resist Oliver at all. It’s like the Scotsman has some kind of magnetic force around him, and Percy is just so weak that he’s flush against him in some way before he even realizes it.

Still, through the breathless snogging, he manages to plead. “Oliver,” it almost sounds like a whine, and Percy just hates himself for sounding so strengthless, despite how much he knows Oliver loves it, “Oliver, please. We can’t be doing this. Not now.”

“Relax,” the captain’s voice comes surprisingly low, and even though their verbal exchanges are little more than loud, breath-laden whispers at this point, Percy can’t handle that tone. Oliver knows he can’t. This really isn’t fair at all. “Live a little. Just let yourself enjoy it, those Ministry bastards are always late to everything.”

On any other occasion, the third son to the Weasley line wouldn’t hesitate to upbraid Oliver for speaking foully if the Ministry. But given the tremors in his body at Oliver’s touches; given the delightful heaviness of his solid frame pinned to Percy’s rather thin and surprisingly lithe one, and, Merlin help him, this boy’s - this  _man’s_  - heavenly scent, a pleasant concoction of such a masculine musk and a dash of whatever fragrance he always seems to be wearing, if it even is one of artificial origins, or if his flesh just carries such a sweet smell on its own. It doesn’t matter to Percy. He’s so lost in Oliver, it feels like being at home. Maybe it is.

Still, the voice of reason tries again to break through to the both of them. “She could bring him in any second, Oliver - I’d rather not be seen like this by someone I could be interning for in less than a ye-” That thought gives way to muffled moans as the golden-skinned captain kisses up the column of his throat, probably leaving marks that Percy will have to cover with his House scarf. Thank Merlin it’s been a cold February, and it won’t look suspicious.

He can feel the trails his boyfriend’s lips have blazed up his flesh, especially as he sucks at a particular junction between his neck and jaw. It’s, unfortunately, such a good burning sensation that his body naturally accommodates for more; his neck elongates and his head tips back, hot breaths heaving up past his chest and through his throat. “Oliver-” his last attempt, already rendered futile by the way it sounds like a moan for more instead of a request to cease this sinful behavior in Percy’s corner of their dorm room.

The captain seems to know what it means, though, and to Percy’s shock (and, damn him, dismay), he actually does stop for a second. Plush lips barely a centimeter from Percy’s, his lidded eyes stare through the redhead’s widened ones, murmuring in that godsforsaken low voice once more. “If you want me to stop, then tell me. Flat out. Tell me to stop.”

Percy - Percy  _Weasley_  - uncontested as the most composed and self-controlled student at Hogwarts, looks now like little more than a sea nymph spotted by humans. His blue eyes are twice their typical size, his kiss-bruised lips are parted as though the word,  _stop_ , is on the tip of his sweet tongue. The way his head is still tipped back, he has to look down at Oliver past his lower eyelashes and the protrusion of his nose. His shirt is open, chest painted by both a flush and Oliver’s lips, and glistening in a thin sheen of perspiration derived from their acts. “St-” Almost. He doesn’t even want to say the word, it feels like poison in his throat. He purses his lips, glaring at his lover, though every shade of lust and love remains in his eyes, as well. “I hate you.”

Grinning victoriously, Oliver rewards Percy’s lovestruck behaviour with several wet kisses behind his ear - his kryptonite. “No you don’t,” he teases, satisfied with the string of moans he pulls out of his partner.

The redhead’s thighs close around Oliver’s waist, his sitting position on his desk with his lover standing before him (or more accurately,  _between_  him), constituting this easily. His fingers tangle in Oliver’s soft, dark hair, and he finally loses himself, his shirt half off and pants opened as their lips meet in a desperate, biting kiss.

Percy swears he feels his soul leave his body when the room to their dormitory slams open.

“- and this, Mr. Crouch, is our Head Boy, Percy Weasley. He’s shown an immense interest in the Ministry and already displays a potential crucial to the governmental mission-”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes finally trail to the boys, pushed up against Percy’s desk. The Head Boy grasps onto Oliver’s open shirt for his life, using it to cover his own bare chest to the best of his ability as his teeth nervously catch his own lower lip. Horror is present across his face.

Licking her lips as she tries to gather something to say, her eyes then turn to Oliver. She’s less than surprised to see him smiling.

“Hey there, Mr. Crouch. Percy is really set on the Ministry. He never shuts up about it,” says Oliver, casually, “You’d really be lucky to have him, y'know.”

Percy’s eyes are wide, and focused on the point of the floor farthest from any life form in the room. He doesn’t know if he wants to punch Oliver in the throat or kiss him for trying to save the moment by speaking highly of him. If that’s even what just happened.

The exchange can’t last a moment over thirty seconds, though the middle Weasley boy’s embarrassment makes it feel like an eternal punishment. He can’t even hope to meet Barty Crouch’s eyes, or Minerva McGonagall’s, for the matter.

“… Right,” says the Ministry official, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I’ll keep that in mind. It looks like you know a lot about him.”

Regaining her composure, McGonagall takes Mr. Crouch by the shoulder and steers him out of the room. “That’s enough for now, allow me to introduce you to some of our faculty …”

Her voice carries off as she speeds away, sure to shut the door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i love these two so definitely expect more of them from me!!


End file.
